


Birth, Death, And Other Things

by GoofyGoldenGirl



Category: Hetalia World Stars, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 19th Century, Character Study, Confession, Countries, Flashback, Gen, Guilt, POV Multiple, celebration, formal dinner, marriage problems, welcome party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoofyGoldenGirl/pseuds/GoofyGoldenGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It is February 1871. A grand celebration is held for a newly created country called Germany. But everything is more complicated than it seems. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birth, Death, And Other Things

## Germany

A cacophony of violins, the murmur of voices, and laughter reached his ears. The boy leaned against the wall in the hallway, his heart beating fast, his head dizzy.

"Is this required for everyone?" Germany asked his brother Prussia.

"You're lucky you're getting this party," Prussia said. "They didn't exist when I became a nation."

"Couldn't they arrange something a little less nerve wracking?" Germany tried to calm himself down with a deep breath. 

"Relax!" Prussia gave Germany a friendly punch. "This is supposed to be fun! They're not expecting anything of you just yet!"

The song stopped and a loud trumpet fanfare came in its place.

"That's us!" Prussia exclaimed.

They headed down the hall, listening to the announcer:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please!"

The two brothers stood close to the curtain that led to the balcony. Germany straightened his posture. He rolled down the sleeves of his dress coat.

"I would like to introduce a special guest tonight…"

Everything seemed to happen all at once. Prussia tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a nudge. Germany started to shakily walk to the curtain.

"Mr. Ludwig Belischmidt!" 

The lights up head flashed before him. He was greeted by a loud applause. He looked out at the gathering of European countries and diplomats, his grip tight on the balcony railing.

"Wave," Prussia whispered.

Germany attempted to move his hand back and forth and tried to put on his best smile. The people still applauded. He began to relax. 

The two brothers made their way down to the main level to join the festivities. The night continued on with dinner, music, and a long process of introductions. He alternated between bows and handshakes as the people paraded in front of him, greeting them in the best French* he could muster.

"How do you manage juggling so many languages?" He asked Prussia as he watched The Netherlands and Belgium walk away.

"It comes easier to us countries than to the mortals," Prussia said. "But be prepared to learn more languages than just French."

To the young boy it seemed like an impossible task.

There were two other people heading towards them. One was a man with violet eyes, slicked back raven hair that had a strand sticking out on the left side. He was wearing an elegant black suit with white gloves, just like all the other men at this gathering. On his arm was a woman, with long brown hair that was put up in a bun, bright green eyes, and wearing a beautiful crimson red dress that flared at the sides. Germany recognized the man, it was Austria, who he had met once before.

"And of course you remember Austria?"

"Pleasure to see you again sir," Germany extended his hand and stood up from his seat. Finally he could slip back into his native tongue.

"Indeed," Austria said cooly. "Have you met my wife? This is Hungary."

The woman held out her hand and smiled at him.

"Nice to meet you," her German was quite good.

"Nice to meet you too ma'am ," he bent down and lightly kissed her hand. He felt his cheeks burn red. Kissing a woman's hand in greeting was a standard practice but it was an **embarrassing** one that he could not understand. He heard Prussia snickering behind him. 

"So are you having a good time?" Hungary asked him.

"It's a little overwhelming, but I am enjoying myself," he tried best to give them a smile.

"That's the spirit!" Prussia clapped Germany's back. The boy flinched, startled. "Now it is my turn to greet these fellas!"

Prussia had grabbed Austria's hand into a tight handshake. He shook for about six seconds before turning to Hungary. Austria cradled his right hand,trying to massage it the best he could without removing his gloves. Prussia paused for a second, as if he were nervous, but then gently picked up Hungary's hand. With his gaze still on her, he kissed her hand. A quick kiss, but one that seemed to linger more than it should. 

It was clear that both Austria and Hungary did not like Prussia. He was not sure why, but understood that Prussia did have a strong personality and that others would find him unpleasant.

"Please forgive my brother for being so rude. He's had too much to drink," Germany apologized. 

"Don't worry," Hungary said. "It's no trouble." 

The group caught sight of another partygoer heading towards them. A blond, his hair also in a bun like Hungary's, dark blue eyes, and dressed completely in black, even his shirt and gloves, as if he were in mourning.

"And look who it is!" Prussia exclaimed in French. "Look how he waddles to us with his tail between his legs like a dog! Come to beg for mercy again France?"

The Frenchman glared at Prussia.

"I came to assess my new rival," he said curtly. "Is it a crime to want to meet this new and mysterious opponent of mine?"

Germany took a step towards France. He held out his hand.

"It's…" He tried to think of the word for unfortunate in French. " _Il…est…mal…Mal?_ How do you say, 'it's unfortunate we meet this way', in French?" Germany asked Prussia in German.

France's expression had changed the moment he had cast his eye on Germany. He froze. His face became pale, his eyes, before angry, now were filled with what looked like fear. A bead of sweat ran down from his forehead. He took a step back, turned around and hurriedly started to walk away. 

"That's right! Run home like the coward you are, and cry to your mommy, you little _bitch!_ " Prussia shouted in French at France's departing figure. 

Austria shot an almost disgusted look at Prussia.

"Watch your language," he muttered angrily under his breath. "You have a ward."

"What! He doesn't know French!" Prussia defended himself. 

"You call this setting an example?" Austria hissed. "You are at a formal _dinner._ " 

"Well what did he say?" Germany piped up. 

"Nothing. Just a disgusting, vulgar word," Austria said.

"He called France a bitch." Hungary spoke up for the first time since France had arrived.

Austria's jaw dropped. Prussia awkwardly shifted from side to side. Germany turned, shocked, towards his brother.

"Why would you do that?" He exclaimed.

"Because he deserved it that's why!" Prussia said with a laugh. He clapped Germany once more on the back.

The boy only let out a sigh.

## Hungary

She rolled her shoulders back, her right hand reaching behind her to rub her left shoulder. Her body ached; her chest and waist felt like they had been squashed. She could not understand why corsets were fashionable. Why women of the aristocracy wore them almost every waking hour, not being able to move or breathe properly, Hungary did not know. For her, it was essential that she was able to go about her life as she pleased without anything weighing down on her, literally! Humans could be strange at times with their ideas. She limited wearing corsets to special occasions like the dinner she had just attended.

She stood in front of the mirror on the wall and adjusted her chemise. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. His posture was not as uptight as usual. He was hunched over, his legs spread apart, his hands rested on his knees. He had taken off nearly all his clothing except for his trousers and a half unbuttoned shirt. 

"The food was good," Hungary tried to fill the silence. "You can always count on that. Did you see Prussia's attempt to make an example of himself for the kid? Hilarious! Prussia as a role model who knew! A few drinks let his true colors show. I knew it. I knew he'd go back to being his obnoxious self just like that!" She snapped her fingers.

"I'm even shocked that he and France did not go about exchanging blows," she added. "You'd think the brute would rub it in one more time that he beat France into a bloody pulp."

Austria did not react to Hungary's usage of vulgar language. He still stared down at the floor.

"Germany is sweet though," she continued, her tone softer. "Quiet but polite. Charming. A lot like you don't you think?"

He still was silent. 

"Austria?"

He finally looked up.

"I want to have a child."

She turned around and met his gaze.

Back when Germany was about to be created, there was debate over who should take charge of the new country. Both Prussia and Austria had claims and they argued for nearly two years. However Prussia triumphed in the end. It was something Austria could never get over. 

"Darling, I know you're upset that Prussia ended up getting Germany, and I agree that it would be better if you looked after him, but what's done is done."

"I do not mean like a ward or a colony. I mean a child of my flesh and blood."

She paused as she took his words in. She could see herself as a parent. She took care of Italy when he was boy. She had acted more like an older sibling, but looked after him as if he were family. However, Austria had never been very parental. He always came off as cold. Even with her tough side, she was more caring than he was, or so it appeared. It wasn't until they reconnected as adults that she noticed a different side to him. A man who was warm, gentle, loyal, who possessed eloquent wit and was a secret romantic. For many years they went back and forth between flirting until they got together briefly, but circumstances forced them apart. And similar circumstances would bring them back together nearly four years ago. They loved each other, loved each other deeply, but knew that the marriage came at the wrong time.

"But what are the chances it could happen?" She asked.

"It has happened before," he said. "The generation that came before us was able to."

"But that was a miracle," she started towards him and sat down on the bed. She took his hand and faced him.

"There was only one pair. Greece's parents:The Byzantine Empire and Ancient Greece. The other countries' parents were the offspring of former Roman territories and human mortals, or they were just created."

"Well do we know of anyone else who tried?" Austria pointed out.

"That's the thing. We don't. What if it took years before I became pregnant? What if for some reason I'm not able to?"

"But I need to carry on my legacy!" Austria exclaimed frantically. "I'm not as powerful as I once was and I fear for the future! There is only one way to ensure the power I hold and that is to sire a child!"

Hungary let go of his hand.

"Don't forget that I have been beside you all this time!" She exclaimed. "I have protected and defended you and your lands throughout the years and helped your empire grow! I am your soldier, friend, co-ruler, and wife and I will not be brushed aside! It is _my_ future as much as yours' if we have a baby!"

He turned his back to her and did not say a word. There was a tense pause. The minutes passed. 

She did not regret her words, but knew that they came out wrong. She reached out and placed a hand on Austria's shoulder.

"I didn't mean to make you angry," she said softly. "I only wanted to tell you how I feel."

She felt his hand reach up and touch hers'. He turned his head. 

"I know," he said.

He faced her again and took her hand. They stared at each other.

"We could try," she whispered.

He smiled, something that she hadn't seen in a long time.

"We can."

He leaned in and their lips met. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and felt his' hands place themselves on her waist. She deepened the kiss, her hands moving his shirt off his body. 

They loved each other. They loved each other dearly. But they both knew it was the wrong time.

## France

He wandered the streets of Paris alone. It was at least four AM in the morning and snowing. He did not bother to pull up his hood, letting the snow drip into his long blonde hair that touched his shoulders. He had been walking for hours and had not stopped once.

He stopped at a church. He dragged his way up the steps and knocked, hoping it was open. A tired, elderly priest appeared at the door.

"Mass does not begin for at least another three hours," he informed France.

"This is an emergency!" France exclaimed. "I need to make confession! Please out of the goodness of your heart, take me in!"

"As it happens I am already awake. You are in luck," the priest beckoned France in.

They sat in the confession booth. France's hands were trembling. He tried to take a deep breath.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned," France began. "I have done a horrible, horrible thing in the past that grieves me…"

_He heard the sounds of gunfire by the bridge. The smoke from the cannons filled the air and made him cough. The Swedes were winning. He could tell. They were winning. It would be over. The whole damn war would be over!_

_He kept on moving, gripping tightly to his musket, his heart racing, blood pumping through his veins. Something animal like stirred inside him. He raised his musket and shot at any passing figure nearby. Three shots, three bodies fell. Two more charged towards him. France swung his musket at the first man's head, at the other he rammed his bayonet into his chest. The two fell with a groan. He reloaded and ran._

_No one stood in his way. He was invincible. All would fall at his feet and he relished the blood on his hands. He would be a hero, praised in story and song. Francis Bonnefoy, the man who singlehandedly ended the hell that plagued Europe for thirty years!_

_He advanced to the gates. All he needed to do was to scale the wall and he'd be over. It was all so simple and no one stood in his way_

_"France!"_

_A thin, sickly boy dressed in black robes was running to him as fast as he could. He held up a sheet of parchment._

_"Stop!" The blond boy wheezed. "Stop! There's news from Westphalia! Ne--negotia--"_

_France fired three times._

_The boy stumbled. He coughed even more violently, the blood from his mouth running down his neck to blend with the blood gushing from his chest. He fell without a sound. His eyes were open and they stared motionlessly up at the sky. The last of the blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He was no more. Holy Rome was dead._

"And you never told anyone?" The priest asked.

"Never. It was my secret. For years."

"You know the consequences you will face," the priest said.

"To tell you the truth Father, the idea of hell seems comforting for someone like me. I have sinned too much for too long."

A tear ran down his face. 

"I didn't mean to kill him. I would never in my right mind harm a child even if he was my enemy. Something took over me!"

He began to sob. He placed his face in his hands, listening to his cries echo throughout the room. He felt the stare of the priest through the window.

"There are times in our life where God tests our faith. War is one of them. There are some men who can walk away from the battlefield without any remorse. Others feel the pain of their sins deeply in their hearts. And it is what He wants. He wants you to repair that relationship, to redeem yourself. Think of your confession as a start." 

"But how?" France choked as he looked up. "The dead is dead." 

"Focus on the survivors. The living."

The priest said the prayer to absolve the sins. France then thanked the priest and exited the church. He went down the same street he did before.

_Focus on the living_

What were the chances that the living and the dead were one and the same? He had been given a great shock upon seeing Germany for the first time. The boy was the exact splitting image of Holy Rome, the hair, eyes, shape of the face, his thin frame, even the sound of his voice was exactly the same. Was it meant to haunt him? Was he being punished at last? Or was it a sick coincidence that only forced the repressed memories back to the surface? 

He stopped at the end of the street and thought over the priest's words again.

Perhaps this was what the priest meant by a new start? If Holy Rome was in some way connected to Germany, then France had a chance to do his penance. A once in a lifetime chance to fix things once and for all. He vowed that he would not hurt the boy or get involved in petty struggles against the German nation. If he could somehow find peace, all would be well. 

France smiled. 

It was dawn. The sun was just starting to rise.

**Author's Note:**

> * _From about the 1600s to the mid 1900s, French was the language used in diplomacy_


End file.
